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( this kind of feels like a test — a test of zoro's willpower, or something, to see if he'll cave, if he'll react. he wishes he had the wado here, resting beside the bathtub within arm's reach, so he could slice this shithead's dick off. he wishes this shithead would just sink into the water with him, sit between his thighs and lean back against him so that maybe he could wrap his arms around his middle the way they used to sometimes sleep.

it's a test that zoro's really trying not to fail, even if it means lounging there beneath the bubbles with his eyes closed and his mouth quirking downwards with displeasure, like if he keeps his mouth shut, the cook will actually leave him the fuck alone. it's a stupid thought, considering how good sanji's been at leaving him the fuck alone over the past few weeks — why bother now? his frown only deepens.

apparently, it's futile, because before he knows it, the cook's sticking his feet in the water next to him and setting down his stupid little basket of fancy bottles of whatever-the-hell that zoro finally turns his head to eyeball. what ever happened to a good old fashioned bar of soap rubbed over his skin and on top of his head? stupid. ) Hey, w—

( zoro's too busy mentally complaining to resist the veritable baptism he's given by sanji's hand, emerging from the depths of the water with a huff of a breath and green hair wet and flattened on top of his head. it stuns him into silence, radiating the quiet fury of the pissy cat that he once was until — there are hands in his hair, massaging shampoo that smells a little too good through the strands and over his scalp.

now, instead of a test, it feels kind of like a set-up. had nami said something to him? zoro hasn't really said anything to nami about what happened; he's just refused to bring the cook up first in conversation, occasionally refused to sleep in his own bedroom because the distance between them felt too big and yet not remotely big enough and nami's still his lifeline, even without their connection.

he wants to be mad, but it's hard to be when sanji's hands feel so annoyingly good as he washes zoro's hair for him, make the part of his throat that might've rumbled with contentment in another life feel hollow. the tension slowly eases out of his shoulders, and finally ... he tips his head back, looking up at the cook in his silly little headband with pathetically tired eyes and just asking: ) Why?

[ why. it's the eternal question that sanji keeps asking himself as he boomerangs away from zoro and back again, always back into his orbit and into his arms, somehow pulled toward him like a ball on a string. it's pathetic. being here has unearthed all the loneliness he thought was permanently buried since the moment reiju pushed him away from the vinsmoke mansion and toward his freedom with the command to never return home again. he's a ghost walking these halls without nami's connection tethering him to something, without zeff's presence, without the merry being able to take them far away to the next adventure. they're stuck. and sanji would have thought he'd know better how to deal with being stuck by now, but he's not dealing well at all. ]

Because someone has to take care of you.

[ because you always take care of me.

the scar running jaggedly over his healed eye is proof of that, normally covered, but he doesn't have many secrets from zoro. just his fragmented past, but that's a secret from almost everyone. even nami has just bits and pieces of the story, maybe enough to put everything together if he doesn't start acting normal again soon. his fingertips brush zoro's earrings, a slight metallic tinkle in the air, and then he's rubbing suds behind his ears, traveling down the strong line of his throat to the dip of his shoulder blades. after a moment he comes back up, draping his arms around his shoulders to rest his fingertips at his collarbones. ]

There's something wrong with this place. Nami's gotten too comfortable, and I don't want to scare her. I need you to help me figure it out.

[ he dips his hands into the tub, washing away the suds and scooping up clear water, cascading it over zoro's shoulders. ]

I need you with me. I can't do this alone. This place, it — it scares me worse than where we just came from.

( there's a part of zoro that wants to bristle at sanji's answer — nobody has to take care of him, which might be true, but nami and sanji still find ways to do it anyway. maybe it was more true in the village than here, where almost any need can be met at the snap of fingers, but —

it's obvious that they still need each other, because sanji's right. there is something wrong with this place, and zoro won't admit it, but with luffy here now, there's a part of him that's gotten a little comfortable, too. he's stuck following the tedium of his daily routines, bookended so nicely by daily egg breakfasts and nightly black tie dinners. he lets out a long sigh, chin tipping up a little as sanji's fingers toy with his earrings, trace over his collarbones, linger there. the last time sanji touched him, it was his hands gripping his shoulder blades, tips of his nails indenting into his skin, thighs tightening around him, gasping against his mouth —

i need you with me. he's said it before, zoro's said it before, and they'll both probably say it again. it's the truth, and right now, it's probably as close to an apology for ... whatever the fuck happened that first weekend in sanji's bedroom. puke. cake. tears and harsh words. a sealed bottle of wine. the warm water courses over his shoulders, and he hums his assent. it's pretty fucking worrying that sanji finds this place more terrifying than the last, but zoro's learned to take things one at a time with the cook. it's a thought that he's holding onto for now, though, not remotely done with it.)

C'mere.

( and it's certainly less than graceful, but zoro uses the lip of the bathtub to push himself up and onto his knees, definitely sloshing bubbles and water onto the floor in the process, turning around to face sanji. placid as ever, zoro's wet hands reach up and cup sanji's cheeks to guide his face down, his chin craning up so he he can place perhaps the softest, gentlest kiss against his lips. lingering: )

It's still warm — you should get in.

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retconning eye scar starts now

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